


Glory Be

by TriumphShouts



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Come Eating, M/M, Oral Sex, Power Dynamics, Praise Kink, Punishment, Reward, Unhealthy Relationships, Worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-07-16 00:02:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7244188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TriumphShouts/pseuds/TriumphShouts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Luke used to be afraid when he came before Bray in supplication, to beg forgiveness for his sins. Now he feels the same anticipation as when he comes to tell of his success, anticipation of Bray’s will done."</p><p>Luke comes to Bray to confess his sins and receive punishment. He gets that, and more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glory Be

**Author's Note:**

> This is very much inspired by the work of fingalsanteater and MoxFirefly, hopefully it's not too close to their fic. I hesitated for a long time before posting this, but I decided in the end that if even just one person finds it hot, it's probably worth it.

Luke used to be afraid when he came before Bray in supplication, to beg forgiveness for his sins.  
Now he feels the same anticipation as when he comes to tell of his success, anticipation of Bray’s will done. 

He will revel in the lightness and joy gifted to him through either punishment or reward. The two are not really different. Both take from him the suffering of the world and transport him to another place, a realm where Luke is truly free.

Bray contemplates Luke’s kneeing form carefully, as he always does. He never takes lightly this benediction, this damnation he offers. Luke is as precious to him as his own heart, an extension of his will and the will of the forces that flow through him. 

“You have come before me to confess” He observes, crouching to study Luke’s face, to brush a hand along his cheek. He can always tell when the heart of one of his followers is heavy, feels it settle in the room. There’s no need to push though; no matter how small the infraction, if Luke feels he’s failed he will confess it.

Put another way, he trusts Bray to take his confession and make him whole no matter what. 

“I failed you”. Luke doesn’t call him master, or lord, or even God. There are no words for what Bray is to him, and any he’d try would be a pale attempt at labelling a force beyond labels. 

Bray slips his hand lower, to splay at the base of Luke’s neck. His thumb brushes across Luke’s collar bone. It’s nakedly possessive in a way Bray only allows himself in private.

Reassured by the touch, Luke forces himself to continue. Even though he feels no fear, his failure is still bitter on his tongue. It’s heavy and suffocating but he knows Bray will take it from him, has faith in that.

“I went to the church as you told me, but it was abandoned. I couldn’t find the pastor. They said he up and left one day, and the church’s been empty since”. Luke breathes out in what feels like the first time in hours. His failure is out in the open now, nothing left to do but accept Bray’s will. He wants to dip his head but refuses to move until Bray moves him. He’s been on his knees for hours at a time before, waiting. This is nothing.

Bray chuckles, deep and low.  
“He thinks he can run from the darkness he’s bring down on himself.” Bray dips his head and forces Luke to meet his eyes. 

Luke stares into the perfect blackness he finds there. 

“He can’t. The power to destroy him already builds within our hearts.” Bray smiles and Luke’s mouth curves into a smile without intending to, knowing he speaks the truth.

Bray brushes his fingertips over Luke’s eyelids and they flutter closed. Some of the tension leaves Luke, edging him closer to absolution. He doesn’t have to see, he just has to feel and accept.  
Bray’s hands glide down his chest, unbuttoning his shirt and sliding it from his body with the care and delicacy his prize deserves. 

Bray does not consider himself a cruel man; Luke’s suffering itself brings him no joy, but Bray knows there can be no absolution without penance. Forgiveness without atonement is hollow and unfulfilling.  
“You did fail to find him, but you have not failed me. Your devotion is my glory.”

Luke’s breath catches in his throat at the praise, then comes smooth and slow as Bray’s hands continue to trace patterns on his skin. Bray eases the rest of his clothing off until he kneels there naked, the air cool enough to raise bumps on his skin.

“Your suffering will clear these feelings from your mind, leaving room only for my blessing”

Bray catches his wrist and draws it out, leaves Luke with one palm extended, hanging in the air. 

Luke hears the rustle of canvas, knows that Bray is fetching the instrument of his absolution.  
Metal and plastic presses into the soft flesh of the inside of Luke’s wrist. Bray is warning him, giving him time to know what is coming. It’s the type of kindness that makes Luke ache with the need give himself to Bray, to offer him everything and more.

When the electricity flows through his body Luke welcomes it. It burns and rushes and his muscles spasm, but he stays upright. He grits his teeth and forces himself back to the position he’s been put in. Bray could pull that trigger and spend the lightening through his veins a hundred times, a thousand, and he’d still struggle to stay like this.

Luke’s breath slows once more as the pain fades, as his body becomes his own to control once more. 

Fingertips trace the spot on his wrist, bring a different kind of energy. This is the electricity of Bray’s touch, which can set Luke’s heart beating just as fast.

“You’re almost there now, my brother. Let it flow through you as the darkness flows, and brings greater power in its wake”

Bray draws out his other wrist, folds the first arm back down with the same tender care. Bray takes a moment to look upon what he has created, the devotion he has drawn out of this man as sure as drawing wire from steel, guiding it through increasingly finer shapes until it was brilliant and perfect. 

He presses the metal contacts into Luke’s flesh and the click of the trigger rings loud in his ears. 

This time he draws Luke into his arms before the aftershocks begin to fade, smoothing the hair from his face and guiding him through the pain.

Bray holds him close and Luke floats free of the world, perfect and whole. Bray blesses him with his touch and illuminates his soul and Luke can only mumble inadequate thanks.

For a long few moments the only sound is their breath.

“Now you are absolved, and gloried among men” Bray pulls him down to kiss his forehead, pressing his lips firmly against him. “But” Bray continues. “You have forgotten something”

Luke’s heart drops. He has omitted something important, failed Bray in the worst way. He wants to curl in on himself but he forces his chin up a little further, keeping himself open and exposed for Bray’s hand. 

“You went to do my will today, and though in one mission you failed, in yet another you succeeded.”

Luke had brought back the great cross that was hanging on the wall of the church, carried its weight back to the truck and hauled it back to their current base. He knew somehow that was what Bray would want, acting on instincts he’d cultivated over years. He hadn’t thought to mention it because he didn’t even know for sure if it was the right thing to do.

“You are as my hand, my sword. My power flows through you and guides you even when we are apart. Today you brought me back a totem of great power.” Bray taps his temple. “Look”

Luke’s eyes snap open in time for him to see Bray staring back once more, before Bray brings their mouths together. 

The taste of Bray is perfect on his tongue. This alone is a reward he’d crawl for, bleed for, beg for.  
“How can I give you my blessing?” Bray asks, offering him a choice. 

Luke’s head spins. He wants to touch, he wants to be touched. He wants to bleed for Bray’s pleasure and choke on Bray’s kindness. 

What he wants most is what he gets on good nights; to lie in Bray’s bed and hold him in his arms. 

To know that if anything in the world wants to hurt Bray it will have to get through him.

Luke’s eyes flick to the bed and Bray knows his thoughts as easy as if he were reading them off a page.

“You ask for what you already have?”

Luke replies in a murmur. “To be worthy of your presence is all I ask”.

Bray smiles to himself, draws away until only his hands are on Luke. “You are worthy, my Luke . Let me give you a sign of your worth”.

He bends towards Luke, his hands going to Luke’s cock. Luke’s not hard – as much as he wants Bray, his mind has been on things grander than the pleasures of the flesh. Now his desire stirs from where it lay dormant.

He hardens in Bray’s hands, pleasure following through him as strongly as the electricity had scant minutes ago. His hands twitch, wanting to reach out but too obedient to touch without being told.  
Then it stops, and he worries he’s done something wrong. Then he thinks no, perhaps this is all Bray desires to give him. 

“Up” Bray draws him to his feet and lays him out on the bed, soothing his concerns without a thought. He draws off his own shirt and discards it by the bed, blessing Luke once again with the sight of him.

Luke braves a question. “May I touch you?” 

Bray answers it by drawing Luke’s hands to his face, to his hair. Luke trails his fingers through Bray’s hair, gentle as he can. He feels unworthy of such a great blessing, but if Bray gives it he must deserve it. 

Then Bray bends lower, draws in and there’s a wet heat around his cock. 

 

Luke’s thoughts stutter to a stop, unable to process what’s happening. Bray is giving him pleasure, which is his right. Luke’s pleasure is in Bray’s hands, as it should be.

But this… Luke loves sucking Bray, loves to hear Bray revelling in his mouth, loves to feel Bray’s cock bump against the back of his throat. He even loves choking and spluttering when he takes (or is given) too much, how Bray always stops him just when he thinks he can’t take anymore and soothes his breath back to normal.

Luke’s not small, and he hates to think he might cause Bray discomfort. His cock is to be used to give Bray pleasure, not to take his own.  
Of course, Bray senses this. Luke’s hands still in his hair, he pulls off and looks up, his eyes soft.  
“Your pleasure is my pleasure”. He tells him, and Luke understands. Luke doesn’t need to think, doesn’t need to worry. Bray is here, so all Luke has to do is follow.

When his mouth closes on Luke once more, he takes even more, and Luke can't think of anything but the feeling of heat, of pressure, of the softness of Bray’s hair in his hands.

The world seems to spin slower, as if it wanted to give him a moment that lasted forever. 

His orgasm builds within him, drawing inexorable closer. Luke can’t speak, his words taken by Bray along with his sins. Instead he trys to draw Bray up, not wanting to spoil Bray’s mouth with his own worthless seed.  
Thankfully Bray does as Luke’s hands suggest, rising up as Luke shudders and twists through his orgasm, Bray’s hands on him the whole time. Some of Luke’s come spills over Bray’s neck, marking the perfect skin. 

“May I?” When Luke has recovered enough, he motions to Bray’s chest. Bray lets him switch their positions, laying back on the bed as Luke’s tongue cleans his own come from Bray’s chest.

Luke revels in the taste of Bray, in the chance to worship through touch. Tonight has been a night of a thousand rewards, of a benediction Luke would never even dreamed of asking for. He inches lower, daring to taste more. He kisses Bray’s stomach open mouthed and sloppy, worshiping that which he has been allowed to touch.

He expects to be stopped at any second, told that what he has been given already is enough. It is, it’s more than enough. But Luke wants so badly to give Bray the pleasure he knows Bray deserves. Bray deserves every good thing, deserves the whole world falling at his feet in worship.

Instead Bray reaches down to unbutton his own pants, then spreads his legs in invitation. Luke slides off the last barrier between them and mouths eagerly at Bray’s hardness. It’s too much and not enough, so Luke pushes forward. He doesn’t want anything between them, not a single atom. He wants to sink into Bray and give himself up, that Bray might know the depth of his devotion.

Bray thrusts up into the wetness of Luke’s mouth, making his presence known. His hands pull at Luke’s hair, hard tugs that barely hurt but make Luke stutter in his motions. When they’re together like this Bray feels the dark and the fire moving through him. He feels unstoppable and beautiful and he blesses Luke for giving him this gift. 

When Bray comes the men press together, hands holding tight to each other’s bodies. The moment hangs in the air, but the world must spin on.

Luke doesn’t move. He’d stay there with Bray’s spent cock in his mouth all night if left, Bray knows. His perfect follower, his perfect sword. His right hand.

Bray whispers little praises and benedictions to him as he guides Luke off his cock. Luke’s eyes are wide, pupils blown into deep pools of black. He directs him to clean the come off himself, allows Luke to use the cloth to clean them both. 

When he comes back from the bathroom, Luke is hesitant. He knows he asked to be allowed to sleep in Bray’s bed, but maybe all that Bray has given him tonight is all he deserves. He puts one hand on the bed and Bray takes it. 

Luke curls around Bray, their hands still though, fingers threading into one another. He won’t sleep until he hears the long slow breathes that mean Bray is at rest, but Luke doesn’t mind.

 

Luke used to have nightmares, and now he only has dreams.

**Author's Note:**

> As you can probably guess, I find this whole unhealthy power dynamic super hot. 
> 
> I'd love feedback (and I'm not great at catching typos so feel free to point them out), be nice!
> 
> I'm on tumblr as TriumphShouts too, if you want to follow me over there.


End file.
